Undead Nightmare  Father & Son Edition
by MindlessDream
Summary: As Jack Marston prepares to find the reason for the second undead outbreak, he is distracted by a pale horse trotting over to the hill where his father was buried a couple of months ago.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - I own nothing.

**Undead Nightmare - Father & Son Edition**

There was an eerie silence on the ranch. No birds were singing. The cattle had apparantly broken out of the stable and so had the few horses. The morning fog that had gathered did not exactly give Beechers Hope a warm and welcoming atmosphere**,** either.

He had just come back from Blackwater**,** where he had made sure his mother would be safe. The residents that had _**not**_ left after the last apocalypse-like incident had made a very sturdy safehouse in case anything like the like would happen again. Lucky they had. He had promised her that he would come back to her as soon as he had fetched the equipment his father had left behind.

How he hated to lie to his mother.

This plauge was just like the one his father had spoken about: the one where he himself and his mother fell ill. He was told that a mask had been stolen from an ancient god, and that this mask had to be returned to put an end to this unnatural nonsense. The sooner the better. And since John Marston was not there to do it, it was up to him this time.

He, Jack Marston, would get the job done.

He closed the door to the ranch and walked out. All the guns and equipment his father had used would without a doubt come in handy this time around too, although he was a bit uncertain about the blunderbuss due to the strange smell coming from the barrel.

_Dont get bitten. Just blow their brains out. _

Fairly simple in theory, but in practice...well, time would certainly tell. He just hoped he would not end up like a drooling cannibal too soon.

Jack mounted his horse, Dahlia, and was about to leave, when a beautiful, black and white horse trotting down the road caught his eye. There was nothing strange about a wild horse entering the ranch and suddenly finding itself trapped, but this one was different: it seemed to be... _emitting fog_. The very idea was absurd, ofcourse; obviously, he was just seeing things, his imagination running wild. The fact didn't surprise him in the least; it _did_ happen from time to time.

Oh! _Now_ he knew why it looked so different! He had seen this horse before.

He remembered when his father brought it home from Mexico, claiming he was only borrowing it. The beautiful horse had only stayed in the vicinity for a day or two before leaving, Jack only catching a glimpse of it from the window in his room while his father had tried to nurse him and mother back to health. Nevertheless, he would bet anything this was the same one.

The mare was loitering around the grave of his father. Odd behavior for a horse. Unfortunately, time was of the essence. All ready now, he was just about to ride out, when an ungodly screetch rang around the ranch, causing Dahlia to startle so bad she almost threw him off!

"Easy, girl!" Jack yelped, trying to calm her and stay mounted at the same time.

Catching his breath as the horse finnaly relaxed, Jack pulled out his revolver. That was an undead he had heard, and it was close. Up on the hill where his father was buried, the strange mare was winnying in delight and making little playful jumps that, to Jack, seemed quite out of character.

And his jaw dropped.

Jack was horrified by the fact that he could see something he never though he would see. His dear old pa was digging himself out of his grave. The creature halted in its digging and seemed to gather strength before crawling all the way out. The mare neighed and bucked before she trotted over and nudged the hunched over figure. That seemed to pull the undead out of its silent state as another growl echoed around the silent ranch. Jack had kept his eyes on the scene and suddenly gasped out a breath he was not aware he had been holding.

"That just aint right." He mumbled. Make no mistake, Jack was kind of glad to see his pa up and about again, allthough this was not quite what he had in mind. Jack adjusted the hat he had inherited and checked his gun. Full chamber. His revolver pointed to the undead but he would probably not get a good shot from this distance.

Cautiously, Jack signaled Dahlia to move closer, only to be surprised yet again as the undead man approatched the still overjoyed mare and climbed gracefully up in the saddle. At once, the mare began trotting towards the gate of Beechers Hope, and if his undead father had noticed his own son's presence he did not show it.

Jack kept a significant distance while he pondered on the behavior of the dead man that was his father. From what his father had told him, the undead were dumber than bricks. They couldn't climb, or open doors, and most _definitivly_ _could not _check out their equipment and load their guns like this one seemed to be doing. Curious now, Jack silently commanded his horse to walk faster so he could gain on his father, hearing the displeased noise the corpse made when it finnaly noticed someone was following him.

"Um?...Mister?" he called when he was in hearing distance.

John turned his head to get a good look at his son's face for the first time. Jack tried not to flinch. He really tried. John made his horse stop and Jack did the same, but there was a long silence before Jack opened his mouth in an attempt to speak. Words did not come. He closed it again to ponder exactly what he wanted to say in the first place before attempting something like, "Hi Pa. How was Heaven?" (or the more fitting "How was hell?"). But the only thing that came out was "Ghm..."

The undead he was trying to communicate with looked deeply unimpressed, whitch was a feat in and of itself, considering all the absent and decayed muscles. It crossed its arms impatiently.

Opening his mouth once more, Jack tried again.

"Goddang it Pa...you look terrible"He finnaly forced out.

Its eyebrows shot up at the word "Pa". The undead man leaned closer to take a better look at Jack with his one remaining eye, leaning back in surprise and giving a strangled "Hrgh?" before leaning forward again and coming uncomfertably close, the eye roving up around the younger man`s face. Leaning back in the saddle once more, he seemed bothered. It continued to stare at him, and Jack back at it,noticing that his father hadn't changed all that much. But then again, maybe the one eye that remained had decayed too far to see much at all.

The undead looked..._ uncomfertable_ now, if that was possible.

"It's all right, Pa..." Jack figured he was still in some kind of shock to let "all right" get mixed with this situation, because it certainly was _not_ "all right". At least the undead man that should be his father had the decency to look ashamed of himself for sinning so viciously against nature.

Without warning, something seemed to break inside him, and the question Jack had pushed into the back of his head came crashing out as a yell that startled a few bats out of the trees .

"WHY AREN`T YOU LIKE THE OTHER UNDEAD?"

The silence that followed was very unnerving. Jack still had his pistol in hand, clutched to his side, and he knew he was shaking a little. If it was from seeing his father in this state or something else, he was not entirely sure.

"Don't misunderstand me, Pa..but what makes you so special?"

His father gave an answering shrug before a slightly grotesque hand moved to its left breast pocket, Before he looked surprised down where he would usually keep his cigarettes. Instead of the normal twelve pack, however he pulled out a small vial of crystal clear water. Squinting at the bottle and then at his son, he seemed to be asking where it came from.

"It's the bottle of holy water you were given from Mother Superior in Mexico." Jack explained slowly, "Ma and me knew you cherished it, so we figured you would want to be buried with it."

A light seemed to dawn on John's undead features, pointing at the bottle and then himself while making a noise of excited comprehension. Jack tried to understand himself what the bottle had to do with this. From what he understood, the holy water was not a permanent solution to cure a risen undead, but he kept the thought to himself.

"Sure, that could be it." Jack said outloud, and his father seemed to be glad to have gotten his point across.

"Can you speak at all, Pa?" Jack had finnaly simmered down. Now he just sounded tired. This was all too much to think about.

John made some noises and then finnaly shook his head.

Jack couldn't help feeling a little disappointed,"It could be a might hard to communicate like this." He sighed, and John growled in agreement. "You never _were _too good at charades." he added as he looked around and clearing his throat."Should we get going then?" he suggested hastily after a moment.

His father's head shot up as the word "we" was mentioned, growling and wagging his finger furiously back and forth before pointing at Jack and then firmly at the ground.

_Stay put._ The message clearly communicated.

Jack shook his head."Ah, no sale partner." He said firmly, "You aint doing this without me. I _have_ grown since you died."

His father did not look convinced.

"I can take a backseat on the action if you want to," Jack proposed, "but you are going to have major difficulties in speaking to anyone and finding out what happened this time...seriously...you are an ugly, _ugly_ man" If Jack guessed correctly the corpse had just snorted in amusement. Encourged, Jack pressed on

"I can help you, Pa. I can." He insisted, and John made eye contact once more without replying for several moments. The silence around was somehow deafening to Jack. Couldn't his father see that he was able to do this? Goddamn it, he wasnt a kid anymore!

His inner ramblings were interrupted as the corpse leaned on the neck on the mare, looking at the gate in front of them. He seemed to sigh before straightened up and faced his son again, who was slightly nervous, awaiting the verdict. He nodded once and turned the mare back towards the ranch. Jack smiled and made Dahlia follow when the corpse waved a hand at him.

Arriving back at the rance, his father unmounted and let the mare walk off.

"I got all your equipment already, so we can go now, if you like." Jack clairified, guessing the reason his father had dismounted.

The senior merely waved at him again to follow him inside. Jack was about to ask why, but burst out laughing instead when he saw the strange gait his father had developed; It was like his whole body wanted to fall to the left.

Laughter dying, Jack jogged to the door, stopping at the threshold on finding his father looking through the Bible, of all things. "Eh?..Isnt that a might to late, Pa?" he asked tentatively, unsure how else to say it.

Glaring, John snapped the book shut and smacked him once on the head with it with such swiftness that by the time he figured what was going on, it was too late.

"Dang it, Pa!" Jack cried, attempting to cover his victimized head to ward off incoming blows.

None came. John opened a page and, with the left finger, tapped at a letter. Catching on quickly as to what his father wanted, he started reading aloud the words or letters his father's finger was running over.

"IS.. THAT.. MY ..HAT"

Jack scowled. Was that the first thing he had to say? _Really?_ "No." he answered a bit curtly, "In your last will you gave it to me. It legally belongs to me now."

"MY HAT"

"Deal with it" Jack spat, irritation growing. John made that noise that resembled a chuckle before spelling out the next line.

"HOW IS ABIGAIL"

Jack looked down, a bit thrown off guard at this sudden change of subject. "Ma had a tough time after your death.I think she's getting better now, though. "He added, as if it would reassure his father somehow. "She's is in Blackwater now." He continued, "Do you want to go see her?"

"NO"

"Why?" he asked, genuinly perplexed.

"REMEMBER ME LIKE I WAS"

Sure, seeing her husband like that could be an experience she would wish she never had. Jack could understand that. After all, his was quite the sight.

The corpse suddenly got a seriously evil looking grimase on as he spelled out the next line

"WHERE IS ROSS?"

**AN** - **Hi, I am just here to write and to get help to improve. Hope it did not give anyone cancer** (If i did, I am deeply sorry)

**Shout-out to my wonderful beta bkwrm19 who waved her magic wand and made my scribbles look like a story :-* Go check out her fics, she is a wonderful writer.**

**-Mindless  
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	2. Chapter 2

**-Chapter 2-**

Jack narrowed his eyes, still focusing on the last letter his father had pointed at.

Edgar Ross. Who could ever forget him? The bureaucrat was the very reason his father was dead!

Jack could still vividly remember the day Ross had brought half an army to kill his father.

To kill them all.

He remembered the gunshots that had sent him and his mother running back the way they had come as fast as they could, but it hadn't been quick enough. The attacker had fled without a trace, the only thing left behind being the shocking, gruesome image of the quickly cooling corpse that was his father. Numb with the sudden shock and overwhelming grief, Jack had approached the corpse slowly, only forcing himself to stifling a gasp for his mother's sake when he saw the damage. So many bullet holes!

His momma had just stood there, her expression blank except for her eyes that were shining with unshed tears. If there was one thing he would never doubt, it was that his parents truly loved each other. It had felt like an age until Abigail let out a desperate, wailing sob and covered her face in her hands as if she couldn't bear to see her husband in this state any more. Jack wanted more than anything to sink to the ground and sob with her, but he had to be strong for both of them, and instead had held her shivering frame for a long time before finally working up the courage to get her away from her deceased husband.

Ross was the reason he had trained so hard the last months, he wanted revenge for himself and his suffering mother.

"I know he usually stays in Blackwater," Jack said slowly as he pulled himself back to the present, a little uncertain if the man actually lived there, "But shouldn't we prioritise here? The Apocalypse is reigning down on us and people will die. Ross can wait, can't he?"

The next line was spelled hesitantly "_As soon as the mask is back I will die._"

Somehow it had not occurred to Jack that his father was not here to stay. Once he thought about it, though, it made sense. When the mask had been placed on the altar before, the undead had died once more, the bitten had turned to themselves and lived, if not too severely injured. Jack knew they were lucky his pa had gotten the idea to tie him and his ma up. If he hadn't, they would probably have eaten each other or sustained injuries trying to escape that could have killed them in the long run.

Of course, they had been famished and severely drained when John arrived, but at least they had been alive. His father wouldn't be.

Unable to help it, Jack glanced at the empty eye socket for a moment, it being as close as it was in his peripheral vision.

As soon as he did, though, wished he hadn't.

Jack just couldn't look away, this was too creepy to be a figment of his imagination, he could feel a cold shiver run down his back as he observed something moving inside the empty hole he right side of Johns head.

"Uh..Pa?" he stuttered, "There is something in your eye, I mean hole, the.." Unable to actually say the words, Jack moved his finger rapidly over his own eye, hoping it got the message across.

John regarded him silently and slowly pointed up to his blind side to receive a confirming nod from his son, followed by a "Yep." As an extra assurance.

Jack watched as his father gently moved him out of the way to head towards the bedroom he and his mother had once shared. Taking a deep breath and a moment to gather himself again, he followed.

Entering the room, he found his pa standing before the full length mirror that his mother would usually be the only one to use, looking down at his undead self.

His clothes was stained with dirt and filth, but that was to be expected, he had dug himself out of his own grave after all. There were parts of his face that hadn't fallen victim to decay yet, it made him recognizable and at the same time a complete stranger when one combined them with the chewed through bits.

On the whole, if Jack were to describe it, it looked like John had been dragged face first on the concrete in Blackwater for..just about a minute.

The rest of his face could have looked normal had it not been for the overly pale, almost green tinted skin, the missing left eye and the strange yellow shine that had replaced the brow in in his iris on the right.

Examination finished, John pulled up the cuff on the arm and removed the gloves he was wearing. His hands looked smaller, Jack noted, skeletal. He pulled at his shirt next to look through the ruined fabric and at the wound on his left side, where Jack noticed yet another shocking image.

It looked like something had started_... eating_ him. Jack could see three pearly white ribs clearly and some organ he guessed had to be.. from the looks of it ,the hot spot for maggots.

Dear God, It was so strange to look at him like that, his dear old pa some type of walking worm feast. Too strange, Jack realised as a familiar queasy feeling crept into his stomach that caused him to turn in the doorway. There was only so much he could take at once, after all.

Bile began to fill his throat, but he forced it back down so he didn't hurt his father's feelings, and walked purposefully over to the stuffed brown owl on a pedestal by the window. That owl was one of his favourite things in the house, but now only spared it a glance before he promptly plucked the head off it and fished out his hidden treasure: scotch.

Without delay, Jack popped the cork off , took a big draught, and made a grimace before taking another swig. The debate of what to do next was brief, as the sound of breaking glass from the bedroom and a yell of frustration broke his train of thought.

Funny, he thought suddenly, letting out an uncharacteristically dark chuckle. Now of all times to show a vain side.

Almost since the beginning of all this, Jack had vowed to himself he would act as normally as he could around his father, knowing it would not do any good to tiptoe around the fact that the man was a living dead. Was he being insensitive by doing that?

He toyed a little with the owls head as he continued to listen to the ruckus in the other room; now the drawers and wardrobe were being opened. What on earth was Pa doing in there?

Taking one last mouthful of the alcohol, Jack replaced the cork on the bottle with the intent of putting it back in its place. At the last second, however, he decided against it, placing the bottle in his duster pocket instead; he had a feeling he would be needing it.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Jack was surprised to notice that John had changed out of the clothes he was buried in and into the black duster outfit he had worn when he came home from Mexico. He thought his mother had thrown it out; it was torn (especially on the shoulder) and not particularly clean either due to the dust and dried blood splotches. He had also tied a black bandanna around his neck, no doubt to cover his face with should (and most likely when) they meet anyone. An eye patch completed the ensemble, except for the hat. Jack had to smile a little when he saw that; figures he would choose one that resembled his old one.

"Did you figure out what was in there?" Jack asked, leaning against the door frame, trying to look casual, as if he were merely talking about the weather.

John pointed to the floor near the broken mirror at crushed black beetle in answer.

"Ah."

"We should probably get going, Pa" Jack advised then, "It simply wouldn't do for some other undead to get to Ross first."

John stood up in agreement and forced the old bible, with some difficulty, into his pockets.

"You know, a few pages would probably suffice." Jack remarked when the pocked looked dangerously close to ripping the seams on the jacket.

John stiffened and looked up, obviously horrified at the very though of tearing pages from the holy book.

Not expecting such a reaction to a mere suggestion, Jack threw his hands up in surrender. "Or not...relax." He mumbled. "But we can't stop every time we need to talk." Jack mumbled to himself. He regarded his father thoughtfully, wondering how they were going to communicate in the off chance Pa couldn't reach his Bible. After a few moments, he got an idea.

A few weeks before he had met a young girl in Blackwater. He had walked into her on the street, knocking a parcel out of her hands. He had apologized and picked up her parcel but the girl had not said a word. He was even beginning to get slightly irritated, thinking she was being rude on purpose. When he looked up and noticed she was rubbing her fisted hand over her chest in a small circle. Twice she did this, stopped, and repeated. Automatically drawing the conclusion that he had hurt her somehow, he opened his mouth to ask if she was all right when the young girl was quickly approached by whom Jack presumed was her grandmother. It was then the elderly lady had explained that the girl had been deaf all her life, and that, instead of ignoring him, she was apologizing to him right now by using her hands.

He remembered the meeting very well, due to how unique the experience had been to him, and partly because the girl had been..rather attractive. In any case, it brought him to the realization that if that girl could talk to him like that just through her hand, so could his father. He didn't know the official sign language but thinking up a few signs could hardly be difficult. After all, the only ones who needed to understand, was the two of them.

"Have you ever heard of sign language, Pa?" He asked, watching as the other man made a gesture showing he had heard of it, yes.

"Lets just say this means `stop`." Jack put his fist at shoulder height. John mimicked the motion, clearly following. Jack continued egged on by his father's apparent approval of the idea, "This can mean `Wait here`" He opened his hand. "Come here" He just waved towards himself, when he realised that particular translation was redundant,"...Obviously" he added, rolling his eyes and grinning a bit at his moment of idiocy.

What more would they need to say? Jack scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully, coming up with a few commands, but not how to communicate them. "Be on your guard..what would that look like?" Jack asked; he didn't have to think of them all by himself, after all.

The both of them pondered this for a moment before John raised his hand, thumb, index finger and middle finger raised.

"Great," Jack said, "And if you want me to talk to someone in particular, you just point at them, yeah? We can figure out any others as we go along."

John nodded in agreement, and both spared a moment to rehearse the few that they had quickly. After a minute or two, Jack clapped his hands together once, pleased with their results, "Right," he declared, "I think we're ready. Let's get that bastard."

Murmuring in agreement, John opened the door to step out in the eerie silent day.

When Jack followed his father out, he was surprised to find Dahlia standing as far away as she possibly could from his pa's strange looking one-or at least, as far as the pole they were tied to would let her. In fact the image would be comical if Dahlia hadn't been making small noises of distress as well.

The pale horse itself did not seem to be very interested in Dahlia at the moment, which only made the behaviour stranger. Did Dahlia know something they didn't? "Pa, I have to ask you...what kind of breed is that? She's not like any I have ever seen before."

John gave a shrug, communicating that he didn't know.

"It's your horse." Jack pressed, "You of all people should know."

Again, only a shrug.

"Does she at least have a name?" He asked in annoyance.

John seemed to be pondering that for a moment before he pulled out the Bible again. Only one word this time, "_Death_" He spelled.

"You named it Death?" Jack blurted in bewilderment, "Well that's not very inventive or proper at all."

"_I didn`t name her_" Read the answer.

Jack crossed his arms, "Then who did? And what is wrong with her eyes? They're all... white like."

"_I'll explain later_"

Jack had just enough time to comprehend the sentence, before his pa shut the book determinately, as in warning not to press him any further.

Trusting his father would keep to his word, Jack shrugged and mounted his horse. His pa did the same, and began riding towards Blackwater, finally on their way.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Oh my...That took a time and a half, didn`t it.<em>

_I am really sorry but i have had other things on my mind these months. I hope you can forgive me. I have a clearer view on how i want to continue from here on. I hope to update a little more often than 4 months apart from now on though X)_

_I am really thrilled people actually wanted to know what happened, since i personally did not expect people to read it. Thank you all so much for reviews and alerts._

_Now i have some questions to my readers(assuming i still have some). _

_1. Would you like more of the Horses of the Apocalypse (and Unicorn) or will Death do?_

_2. Are there any people you would like to see?_

_Please Review_

_Cyberhugs to my beta Bkwrm19!  
><em>

_Thank you for your attention :)  
><em>

_-Mindless_


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